


The Killing of Vriska Serket

by spacexual



Category: Homestuck
Genre: !!!, Babies, Blood, Death, F/M, Flashback, Fluff, Gore, Memories, im sorry, kismessitude, moiraillegiance, three sweeps, update this will never be finished ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-19 15:40:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacexual/pseuds/spacexual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now, she's just a limp ragdoll bleeding cobalt all over your shoes. even in death, she ruins things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Myra Hindley

**Author's Note:**

> This ..... is a very short chapter. I promise the next one will be longer.

You still remember the night  you two met.

 

You’d heard of her. She was a legend among FLARPers like yourself. She was untouchable – won every game she ever played and fed her defeated opponents to her lusus. She was your idol. ( _But now, she’s just a limp ragdoll bleeding cobalt all over your shoes. Even in death, she ruins things._ ) You’d tracked down your idol like the Neophyte, hunted her down like a hound. Finding her was easy. You barely broke a sweat.

You were only three sweeps old when you found her. She was small, lanky – you’d seen how little she ate. Like a bird. You’d crush her. In those days, you were as pitch for her as pitch could be. ( _She’s just pitiful now. You can’t imagine how you ever could have respected her, let alone hated her_.) You would smile yourself to sleep with thoughts of how nice a noose would look around her frail, too-skinny-to-be-healthy neck.

You bummed around her hive for a perigree or two, and she never found you. You became more desperate, became bored. So you figured if you just lay down in her recuperacoon, she’d see you ( _You’re embarrassed to think of it now. You and your three-sweep-old logic)_ and when she came back, you two would be absolutely perfect kismesises, your relationship flawless. It would have been perfect, if not for the fact that she didn’t come back for a few nights. You sat in that recuperacoon so long you thought you’d turn into slime. It was hell.

But come back she did, eventually. It was late morning, the sun had risen, and it was much later than a troll your age should stay up. You were rummaging around in one of the various food stashes she kept around the hive, (she never ate them anyways; you’d always wondered why she kept them) when you heard her lusus make an odd sound. But it sounded just like any other sound the creature made, and you thought nothing of it. However, you were somewhat shocked when a certain cobalt – blooded troll ambled her way into the block, spattered with blood the color of mustard and wearing the grin of the devil. She stopped dead when she saw you. You stopped stuffing your face with the meat you’d found as you stared right back at her.

It took exactly two seconds for both of you to leap at and positively _maul_ each other ( _It took exactly one half second for you to stab and kill her_ ).

You rolled around on the floor for a while, tearing at every inch of skin you could get at. She clawed at the sensitive skin on your neck; you ripped at her collarbone with your teeth. It was chaos, and you reveled in it. You took pleasure from it like the parasite you were ( _and still are._ )When both of you slowed down, too exhausted to fight any more, covered in each other’s blood, you both smiled death at the other and silently vowed to ruin her.❥


	2. Ted Bundy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

You never did fight the next morning; you simply wake up spooning against her. She is still asleep, and talking to herself. You could barely make out the words: “teal … FLARPartnerhghfffhh… moirail …”

You pry yourself away from her and take ablutions in the ablution block. You have to toss your shirt in the trash and take one of her own; yours was past fixing. You mentally remind yourself to get another once you got back to your hive.

When you come back downstairs, she’s just waking up. You bare your little needle sharp fangs at her and sink into a crouch, ready to spring. The blueblood doesn’t mirror your actions, as you’d been expecting and merely lays where she is, propped up on her elbows. You leap at her anyway, and she makes no effort to resist. She just goes limp and wheezes a bit because you’re sitting on her ribcage.

Your brow is knitted and your hands claw at her shirt, needing something to keep themselves occupied. “What? What are you doing?”

Your voice is hoarse and scratchy, even more than usual. She blinks up at you and you notice for the first time that her left eye has seven pupils. They dilate as she stares at you. As you watch them, a memory stirs inside of you. Not two perigrees ago, you’d been studying some psychology websites in preparation for your career as a legislacerator. You remember that a person’s pupils dilate when they think or see something attractive to them, or something that they like. The opposite happens when one dislikes something.

 

You’re sure your pupils are smaller than pinpricks.

 

“Get off.”

She wheezes out the words, pain straining her triangular face. You hiss at her and sink your claws into her shoulders. When it becomes apparent that you aren’t getting off of her, she sits up and roughly shoves you off.

“I know that you hate me.”

You don’t say anything, just bare your teeth at her.

“I don’t even know your name.”

Your silence fills the room. Now that you think of it, you don’t know her name either. You wrinkle your nose for a moment and then say, “Neophyte Redglare.”

“No way that’s your real name. Stop lying and just tell me.” She stares at you long and hard, and you stare right back. However, you don’t maintain eye contact for very long – instead, you let your gaze sweep across her body, memorizing the waves of her hair, the horns that seem too soft – edged to belong to her, the sharp elbows that you’ve learned deliver quite painful jabs … despite looking sharp as a sword and being smart as a whip, you see her as vulnerable. She’s the type of witness who’d be sweating on the stand, who’d break down after the first question of the cross – examination.  And in that moment, you (platonically) pity her. You want to protect her and strengthen her so that she can stand on her own. You want to be her moirail, and you want it so badly it hurts.

“My name is Pyrope. Terezi Pyrope,” you blurt. Your eyes are somewhat wide in the bright light of the moons.

Her eyes are similarily wide, as she crawls on her hands and knees towards you. “Vriska Serket.”

Vriska sits not far from you. You tense up reflexively, sweeps of experience warning you of possible harm. Yet she makes no move to go towards you. Her arms hang limply at her sides and her hands trail on the floor. Her uncut hair is bushy and black and covers her like a shroud.  She stares at your shirt for a long time, and then she finally, slowly says “That’s my shirt, isn’t it. Why are you wearing it?”

“My old one got too ripped up. Oh, and are you going to take ablutions? You’re all sweaty and gross.”

Your words have the desired effect and she flushes cobalt, but it’s only barely visible. Troll skin is too thick to be pigmented by blood.

She stands up and lightly dashes over to the stairs, stepping on the balls of her feet. A few moments later you hear water running above you. You stand up and go to a window and watch the world outside, simply observing.❥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said this chapter was going to be longer.
> 
> What i didn't say was that this one would only be about 100 words longer.  
> I'll try to have illustrations up by the third chapter; stay tuned!

**Author's Note:**

> thoughts and commentary are greatly appreciated!  
> I hope to add illustrations to these eventually, so stay tuned.  
> Any questions/sugesstions? Ask them at my [ blog ](http://fionafeast.tumblr.com/ask)!


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